


Cold War

by AsheRhyder



Series: Baker Street Park Irregulars [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 16:38:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsheRhyder/pseuds/AsheRhyder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the Irregulars come together as the team of teenage vigilantes that protect the Baker Street Park, there is a much simpler arrangement of Mycroft and Greg running haplessly after Sherlock and John. </p>
<p>What no one yet realizes is that all of Sherlock’s adventures will be dangerous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold War

Before the Irregulars come together as the poorly-oiled but masterfully assembled team of teenage vigilantes that protect the Baker Street Park, there is a much simpler arrangement of Mycroft and Greg running haplessly after Sherlock and John, trying to keep the two younger boys alive to see their next birthday. It’s not an easy friendship, nor is it a fast one: Mycroft is eminently distrustful of other people’s motivations, and Greg is so open that Mycroft immediately decides he must be hiding something. Greg, who can’t so much as hide a smile, confounds him, and is likewise confounded by the redheaded boy’s insistence that everything is complicated. 

Things come to an uneasy head on a blisteringly hot day in the summer. Greg spends his pocket money on a packet of water balloons, which are promptly stolen by Sherlock and Johnny, but Greg doesn’t mind overmuch because he’s still got one and he’s sure Mycroft can get the rest back later. 

He fills the balloon with cold water and leaves it in the fridge for a while just to be certain, and when he and Mycroft meet up in the park to stop Sherlock’s latest stunt, all it takes is a quick shout to get the other boy to turn around. The water balloon goes crashing into the back of Mycroft’s head, and the splash and resulting shout are both spectacular. 

Mycroft turns to him, his expression as still and cold as an arctic wasteland. Greg can’t help but laugh; to him, Mycroft looks like a wet cat, all ruffled composure and dripping indignity. 

“You should see the look on your face!” He crows, which causes Mycroft’s scowl to turn to a sneer. 

“Ah,” he says, “I knew you’d eventually show your true colors. Very well, Gregory.” And he turns on his heel and stalks off. Greg stops laughing, a confused knot growing tighter in his chest. 

“Myc?” He calls out, using the nickname Mycroft hates and hoping to see some further rise to the bait but receiving none. “Mycroft? Mycroft, please--” 

“No.” Mycroft says, with such finality that Greg’s feet freeze where they are. 

Mycroft leaves the park. 

Greg doesn’t, not for a long time. 

 

From here, things could go like this: 

Greg pushes. He uses every resource at this disposal, runs down every street trying to catch up with the elusive Mycroft Holmes. He runs himself ragged, until even Sherlock looks at him and says, in what is probably the only unprompted kindness Greg will ever receive from him, that Greg should just stop trying. Mycroft is a mastermind, and regardless of how Greg keeps trying to batter down the walls of that labyrinth, he’ll never get any closer to the center and will only end up destroying himself in the process. 

Greg doesn’t, because he’s tenacious, and even when he finally runs out of ideas, the thought of it gnaws at him. 

Greg grows up knowing that he failed, but not how, and he grows old far too early knowing that trying hard won’t save anything or anyone. 

 

And also like this: 

Mycroft withdraws. He builds walls of circumstance and cunning, placing himself beyond reach and out of sight. He takes the long way around the park and grows lean and sharp by making up the extra distance with speed. He bribes, blackmails, or bullies other students into keeping an eye on his brother for him, and when he can’t, he’s always a safe distance away. 

Johnny comes to him exactly once, stands in the door and stares at him with eyes that, while not as sharp as those of the brothers Holmes, are no less wise. He doesn’t say anything, which is a sharp contrast to the screaming rows that Sherlock instigates. He just stares, until Mycroft finally has to walk away to escape. 

Mycroft builds his walls, safe in the reassurance that he knows everything about everyone. He grows cold with this knowledge, and inside his impregnable fortress, he freezes. 

 

But here’s what happens instead: 

Greg doesn’t push. Mycroft doesn’t withdraw. They try, but they are still young, and their intentions are foiled by the rest of the world, which demands Greg’s presence with his family, and Mycroft’s with his brother. As much as Greg wants to chase his friend to the end of the earth and demand the chance to explain and apologize, as much as Mycroft wants to disappear and let no one close enough to prove him painfully correct, these things are not permitted to children. 

Instead, Greg broods, unable to run after someone he cannot catch, and Mycroft is distracted, unable to hide from someone who isn’t there. 

Instead, Sherlock and Johnny watch this happen, sigh at their stupidity, and resolve to fix the problem. It will be an adventure. 

 

What no one yet realizes is that all of Sherlock’s adventures will be dangerous. 

 

So what happens is this: 

Greg walks through the park and broods. There’s no other word for it. Fortunately, by this time his reputation and the thunderous expression on his face are enough to scare off anyone who would start trouble. 

Well. Almost anybody. Johnny Watson is ridiculously brave, and he climbs a tree with a bucket of water and waits for Greg to walk underneath. 

Mycroft, holed up in his room and studying the same page for the last twenty minutes, likewise exudes an air of ‘do not disturb on pain of humiliation’. 

Unfortunately for Mycroft’s attempt at studying, Sherlock is nigh immune to embarrassment and still has Greg’s water balloons. 

 

Greg takes his drenching with fraternal good humor and waits for Johnny to safely descend from the tree before chasing him around the park. Johnny’s laughter lures him all the way to the park gates, but all the mirth is gone the instant he sees the street beyond. He lunges forward and grabs Johnny’s shirt collar before the small boy can even step on the curb. 

“Careful, soldier,” he says when Johnny’s curious eyes blink up at him. “That’s no man’s land. Too dangerous to go alone.” 

The younger boy gives him a look of exasperation, as if he obviously knew this and had no intention of crossing. He opens his mouth, likely to say as much, but is interrupted by a shout from across the street. 

“Sherlock! Come back here!” Mycroft’s enraged voice precedes the arrival of the Holmes brothers, but not by much. Sherlock comes skidding around a corner, and his face lights up as he sees Johnny. Mycroft, hot on his heels but not fast enough to catch him even with the benefit of longer legs, does not have the chance to make the same observation of Greg before Sherlock darts into the street. 

At the same time, a black cab whips out of a side road and comes speeding towards them. 

Adrenaline and fear somehow bring Mycroft to his brother’s side, though he realizes even as he reaches him that he does not have time to pull the boy to safety, and that pushing him will send him straight into the other lane and possibly another car. He grabs Sherlock, hoping to take the brunt of impact himself, and then they are both thrown across the pavement as tires screech horrifically.

Mycroft opens his eyes, realizing that being struck by a moving vehicle ought to hurt significantly more than some bruising and a few minor scrapes. The car is further away than he thinks It should be. There is a still shape in front of it, and shadows creep like blood across the pavement. 

Sherlock is yelling, but the roaring in Mycroft’s ears block him out. Johnny is crying, but Mycroft can’t feel anything except shock. Greg is lying in front of the car, but Mycroft is the one who can’t breathe. 

And this is how it happens. 

 

Epilogue: 

“We’re here to pay our respects.” Mycroft says, his hands firmly on Sherlock’s shoulders to keep him from running off. The woman in front of them frowns, barring their way with her body, and for a moment he thinks, ‘of course, we aren’t welcome here’ before her expression finally softens and she stands aside. 

The Holmes brothers shuffle through the door and come face to face with the body of Greg Lestrade. 

The hospital sheets make Greg look sick, too white against the dark of his hair and too similar to the bandages. His chest rises and falls as they watch, their keen eyes taking in every detail. 

Sherlock, naturally, breaks the silence. 

“You big fibber,” he says. 

A smile cracks Greg’s face. 

“Sherlock,” Mycroft warns him. 

“It’s all right,” says Greg, looking up with the first words exchanged between them in a week. 

Mycroft finds no clever reply, and opts instead to say nothing. 

The tension stretches like a hangman’s noose, strangling the words from them both until Mycroft grabs his brother’s arm and steps back. 

“We should let him rest,” he says. Greg responds by jolting upright. 

“Wait!” He cries, and hisses in pain because he ought not have moved. 

Mycroft is at his side in an instant, and when Greg looks up this time, they see their words in each others’ eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” they say simultaneously. 

Greg grins, then, his smile wiping away all traces of his pain. Mycroft manages a soft smile of his own before the nurses come in, alerted by the frantic beeping of the machines. 

None of them pay much attention to the scolding, but Mycroft agrees that perhaps Greg has had enough excitement and yes, the brothers will leave without further disruption. 

“Mycroft!” Greg calls past the nurse as the boys turn to leave. “See you tomorrow?” 

Mycroft looks over his shoulder and smiles. 

“Of course.” 

And with that, the cold war is over.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters originally belong to Doyle. Show belongs to Moffat and Gatiss. Here there be highly unprofessional amateur fiction. Vaguely beta’d, not-Britpicked because the author doesn’t know any Brits.


End file.
